drink

When the sun came out halfway between Universe City and the coast, I very nearly revolted. I was driving, after all. I could have just kept going, and dragged the whole carload with me to the beach to bask in the sunshine.

It was only because other cars were meeting us that I turned down the side road to the trail along the waterfall.

"I was willing the sun to stay out the whole time we were hiking," I said, after we cut the hike short and started toward the beach.

Usually I love the moss and water of walk along a State of Happiness creek, but not on the first Saturday in March, not when the sky is clearing to that pure shade of blue, not when the sun is actually warm.

We bought wine and cheese and crackers and walked out the rocky jetty to a sheltered spot, in the sun and out of the wind, and there we sat and ate and drank.

"This rock feels perfectly shaped for my butt!" J. said.

"Does that mean you are a hardass?" the other J. said.

A wall of bright white fog billowed in, and we were caught in a world of rock and water. The shore disappeared, until we clambered all the way back over the rocks, whereupon it reappeared in sand and blue sky.

In town, the sky was still blue, but the fog lingered just past the bridge over the mouth of the river. A few tentacles reached into the blue above us.

We stopped for candy. We stopped for coffee. We stopped for a walk. We stopped to drink in the sunshine like dehydrated people gasp for water.